Bert Wilson in the Rockies | Page 4

pattern of sturdy,
self-reliant American manhood, and it was with the utmost cordiality
that he had crushed their hands in his strong grip and urged them to
visit him at his ranch in the Rockies. Since then he had been East on a
business trip and had been present on that memorable day when Bert,
with the ball tucked under his arm, had torn down the field in the great
race for the goal that won the game in the last minute of play. Then he
had renewed the invitation with redoubled earnestness, and promised
them the time of their lives. They needed no urging to do a thing that
accorded so well with their own inclinations, and from that time on
until the opening of the summer had shaped everything with that end in
view. Now they were actually launched upon their journey. That it held
for them a new and delightful experience they did not doubt. How
much of danger and excitement and hairbreadth escape it also held,
they did not even dream.
"Bully old boy, Melton," commented Tom, playing lazily with a heavy
paperweight he had bought at a curio shop at their last stopping place.
"A diamond in the rough," assented Dick.
"All wool and a yard wide," declared Bert, emphatically. "I wonder if
he----Great Scott, what's that?" as a bullet whizzed through the window
of the Pullman.
The question was quickly answered when their eyes fell on the robbers,
who, with leveled pistols, dominated the car. And the threat of the
weapons themselves was not more sinister than the purpose that glinted
in the ferocious eyes above the improvised masks. There was no mere
bluff and bluster in that steady gaze. They were ready to shoot and
shoot to kill. Their lives were already forfeit to the law, anyway, and in
that rough country they would get "a short shrift and a long rope" if
their plans went astray. They might as well be hung for murder as
robbery, and, while they did not mean to kill unless driven to it, they
were perfectly ready to do so at the first hint of resistance.

The paralyzing moment of surprise passed, there was a stir among the
passengers. The first instinct was to hide their valuables or drop them
on the floor. But this was checked instantly by the outlaws.
"Hands up," shouted one of them with an oath. "I'll kill the first man
that makes a move."
His pistol ranged over the car, flickering like the tongue of a snake,
seeming to cover every passenger at once. Beneath its deadly insistence,
hands were upraised one after the other. Resistance at that moment
meant instant death. The unwritten law of the West had to be obeyed.
He "had the drop" on them.
The leader grinned malignantly and spoke to his companion, without
for an instant turning his gaze.
"Now, Bill," he growled, "I've got these mavericks covered. Pass round
the hat. These gents--and ladies," he leered--"will hand over their coin
and jewelry, and God help the one who tries to renig. He won't never
need money no more."
Taking his old sombrero from his head, the one addressed as Bill
started in to collect from the front of the car.
"Only one hand down at a time to get your money," shouted his
companion. "And mind," he added ominously, "I'm watchin' that hand."
Pocket books and rings and watches dropped into the hat. Women were
sobbing hysterically and men were cursing under their breath.
"Stung," groaned Tom disgustedly.
"And our pistols in our bags," growled Dick.
Bert's mind had been working like lightning. He was always at his best
when danger threatened. Now his body grew taut and his eyes gleamed.
"Be ready, you fellows," he said in low tones, scarcely moving his lips.
"Dick, back me up when I make a move. Tom, got that paperweight

handy?"
"Right alongside on the window ledge," muttered Tom.
Still keeping his eyes in an innocent stare on the outlaw captain, Bert
murmured a few words. They caught his meaning on the instant and
were ready.
The man with the hat was getting nearer. There had been no sign of
resistance and the leader relaxed his caution ever so slightly. This was
easier than they had dared to hope.
The sombrero was sagging now with the unwilling wealth poured into
it, and the collector, relying on the vigilance of his companion, was
compelled to use both hands to keep the contents from spilling on the
floor.
He held it out in front of Bert and Dick.
"Your turn now," he snarled. "Fork over."
They lowered their hands as though to get out their money. Then
something happened.
Like a flash, Dick grabbed the pistol hand of the collector, while Bert's
fist